Every day your body of memory,
string art of neurons, the center pulled taut.
Here you are again, a chain reaction
of catastrophic perfectionism,
trying, trying, trying as you drive the car home.
Every day your body of memory
dances the stories you thought you forgot --
the time a wren thwacked against the windshield.
Here you are again, a chain reaction,
nerve bundles at the side of the road,
feathers and wires of feet in your hands.
Every day your body of memory.
The car is a symbol for the body
in dreams, but this death is yours for real,
here you are! Again, a chain reaction,
your hands pulled the strings, stopped flight,
wrung out song. Your own fire of fingers,
every day. Your body of memory --
here you are again. A chain reaction.
A somewhat villanelle, written after taking a dance class.